The Good Son
by LithiumDoll
Summary: When he closes his eyes he can see the wake of the bullet as it spins through the darkness between them. And he thinks, he thinks that anything he can see that clearly he should be able to stop. Take back. Pause like a movie. Freeze frame. Eject. BUaBS AU


**Summary/Spoilers:** BUaBS AU … coda?**  
Beta:** The so very lovely (and adorable) kernezelda**  
Disclaimer:** Supernatural tragically still not mine, no money being made

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When he closes his eyes he can see the wake of the bullet as it spins through the darkness between them. And he thinks, he thinks that anything he can see that clearly he should be able to stop. Take back. Pause like a movie. Freeze frame. Eject. 

That's when he closes his eyes.

When he opens them he can see the red mess dried black in the centre of his brother's chest.

In a minute he'll figure out which is worse.

"Hey, Dean-o."

Black eyes watch him through lank hair, blinking so and amused as they twist his name into mockery.

"We going to sit here all night? I don't mind, but Sam, he's getting bored."

He doesn't trust his voice; breath catches in the thickness of his throat, words would choke. He can still taste the dock water. The beer helps but does nothing against the taste in his mouth.

"Sam'll cope."

The Devil's Trap is a barely visible scar on the ceiling and Bobby's more than half shadow sitting across the room; the beam from the flashlight dances across the wreckage of the room as he flicks through books they both know can't help.

A bullet in the chest plate isn't going to be cured with some herbs and a little crossroads mojo.

"Dean, we got to talk." Bobby's voice sounds like a negotiator opening a line of communication: pets, sports, never say no and don't piss off the guy with the possessed brother and handgun.

"No, we don't."

"There's nothing there, Dean. You know Sam wouldn't have wanted th-"

"He's not dead, Bobby, he's in there. We know he's in there."

The demon's voice slides into him like a blunt knife. "He is. You want me to let him out?"

"_No_."

It's out before he's thought about it but fuck, _no_. Sam will tell him Bobby's right. He won't be able to fight both of them.

"Let him talk, Dean." Bobby sounds like he agrees with the demon, and Dean feels a smile twitch at the side of his mouth 'cause that's got to hurt.

He shakes his head, murmurs an excuse that sounds weak even to him. "Won't even know it's Sam talking anyway."

Bobby draws a breath, lets it out. "Just, just go for a walk."

"You're not killing my brother."

"No, _you_ already did that." The demon's smile is bright and sharp, teeth glinting.

"There's healers. Or- a hospital. Get him fixed up and then-"

"There's a reason they call it dead centre, man. Good shot."

"Shut_ up_."

But it's not the demon talking now. It never managed that note between humour and tragedy, not quite.

"Dean…" Sam's eyes try and catch his but Dean's always been quicker.

"Sam, no."

Black eyes laugh. "I'm with you, Dean."

"I'm thrilled." He drains the last of the bottle of beer and throws it into the corner, waiting for glass to shatter and getting only a hollow rattle as it rolls to a rest against the sideboard.

Bobby's holding his shotgun cradled in his arm and maybe he was only shifting it, but Dean's gun is in his hand and it's steady.

"You kill him, you be ready to kill me."

And the thing is, Bobby will do it. Because, if he was in Bobby's place, Dean would do it too. He had, hadn't he. With Meg. Meg's "brother".

And he's not sure he doesn't want Bobby to do it. End it with both barrels. Dean will never have to look anyone in the eye again.

The shotgun's muzzle drops and maybe he's disappointed.

"So what's the plan, big brother? You, me, road trip?"

"Something like that."

He crosses over the lines of the ward before he can think about it, checks the ropes binding Sam's hands and hauls him to his feet.

There's no resistance. He guesses the game is still fun. Dean keeps his gun trained on Bobby, although the other man's weapon still points at the floor.

Bobby tries once more, but all the anger in his voice is defeat, not battle. "Boy, this isn't what your daddy or your brother would want."

"Maybe it's time to get what I want."

Sam's shoulders are shaking out silent laughter when Dean pulls him outside.

He thinks about bone and blood and flesh and fear and wonders if he'll notice when Hell finds them.


End file.
